


fragmented; whole

by thalassarche (kynjury)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst in general, Anxiety Attacks, Existential Angst, Gen, Lucien Had A Shit Childhood, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sharing a Body, critical role rly did hand me my favourite trope on a platter huh, heavily implied past widomauk, i might add more depending on where canon goes after this, is that gonna stop me? nope, no i haven't seen 123 yet, pre-122, sometimes you have to share your body with the world's most infuriating peacock, very heavily implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29073927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kynjury/pseuds/thalassarche
Summary: ‘Bloody hell, and I thought I was paranoid. Don’t tell me you really can’t figure out who I am?’“...you’re the fragment,” Lucien says after a moment, and immediately he feels foolish for overreacting the way he did. This is concerning in a different way, but not so much that he can't deal with it, and the reassurance helps him relax back into his position in the snow. “What is it they keep calling you? ‘Molly’?”‘That’s Mollymauk to you, thank you very much! Mollymauk Tealeaf. No need to introduce yourself, of course, I already know who you are… Mister Nonagon.’Lucien thinks he’s alone in his own mind.He’s wrong.
Relationships: Lucien & Mollymauk Tealeaf
Comments: 10
Kudos: 128





	fragmented; whole

_‘You could stand to be a little nicer to them, you know. They are my friends - yours, too, if we’re going to be pedantic about it, but then I suppose you wouldn’t quite agree.’_

It takes Lucien a moment - too focused on watching the idiots gossiping between themselves like he doesn’t know exactly what they’re talking about - before he realises the voice in his head wasn’t a thought of his own.

He’s confused, briefly, breaking his dutiful watch in order to glance about in confusion. Perhaps one of his own? But no, they’re all further off, settling in for the night. His imagination then. There were more than enough rumours of people going mad in the snowy landscape of Eiselcross to put stock in such things, and it wasn’t like there wasn’t precedence for it with the Somnovum’s influence. Worrying, but… well, he could keep it together for another day, surely.

_‘You sure about that? Wouldn’t be surprised if you got lost in the snow again and had to waste another day, considering your, quite frankly, absolutely terrible sense of direction. No offense or anything, of course.’_

“What the fuck?” He doesn’t mean to say that out loud, but Lucien’s got better things to worry about right now than Cree giving him strange looks as he tenses up. Going mad is one thing, legitimately having people in his head is another. He’s the _Nonagon,_ it shouldn’t even be possible for anyone other than the Somnovum themselves to-

 _‘Bloody hell, and I thought_ I _was paranoid. Don’t tell me you really can’t figure out who I am?’_

“...you’re the fragment,” Lucien says after a moment, and immediately he feels foolish for overreacting the way he did. This is concerning in a different way, but not so much that he can't deal with it, and the reassurance helps him relax back into his position in the snow. “What is it they keep calling you? ‘Molly’?”

 _‘That’s Mollymauk to you, thank you very much! Mollymauk Tealeaf. No need to introduce yourself, of course, I already know who_ you _are… Mister Nonagon.’_

“Interesting.” Turning his eyes back onto the Nein, a smirk makes its way across Lucien’s lips when he realises he’s being watched back, the entire group averting their gaze just a second too slow. How they managed to last this long with such piss-poor subterfuge, Lucien would never understand. “So? How long have you been lurking in my head, Mister Mollymauk?”

_‘Oh, don’t do that. That’s just weird, hearing that come out your mouth… sorry, yes, well. Good question, actually!’_

Lucien feels a sigh escape him, unbidden and already frustrated. Of course. “Let me guess; you don’t know?”

_‘Have a little more faith in me than that, dear, I’m not entirely useless. Pretty sure I haven’t been aware since you got resurrected though; would’ve remembered coming up out of a grave for a second time. No, I suppose I’ve been sitting in here since, ooh… you met the rest of the Nein in those spooky ruins for the first time?’_

There’s an interesting little tidbit in there that Cree never bothered to tell him about, but Lucien files it away for later questioning. He’ll ask soon enough, once he’s gotten to the bottom of this particular issue. “Which means…? Don’t tell me the _power of friendship_ gave you individuality, I’d rather not deal with cliches so close to the finish line.”

 _‘Rude,’_ Mollymauk responds, in a tone of voice that Lucien feels is somehow mocking him. _‘Don’t knock a good cliche! They’re pretty interesting if done right. Anyway, it’s not like I know all the details - you’ve got me along for the ride, darling, I’m not steering this ship.’_

“Were you always this infuriating to talk to?”

_‘That depends; were you?’_

There’s a brief lull in conversation, Lucien raising a hand to rub in frustration at his temples. Mollymauk doesn’t say anything else either, which is a blessing in and of itself - at least until he does, but in a tone of voice more serious than anything before.

_‘Well, if nothing else, I’m pretty sure we aren’t one and the same anymore.’_

“You’re nothing but a fragment of myself,” Lucien hisses back, a little shorter on temper than he’d usually prefer to be. “A piece of my soul that clung to this container and wore like an ill-fitting glove for no longer than it took you to get yourself killed.”

_‘Can’t say you’re wrong about that. But the funny thing about souls, Lucien, is that they’re pretty difficult to quantify. And I’m not calling myself an expert on all things living and dead here, but I’d make a pretty strong wager that even fragments of one whole soul can become their own given enough time - say, two years or so?’_

A harsh rebuke on the tip of his tongue, Lucien’s sharp intake of breath is left with nowhere else to go as the idea, annoying as it is, starts to _make sense._ There’s no precedence for it, at least as far as he knows, because the very concept is unlikely to ever happen to begin with - but he knows enough about nature to acknowledge that things tend to grow when nurtured long enough.

“...say I believe you,” he mutters eventually, because sense and logic and belief are still all very different things. “Don’t think you can do anything to stop me. I will do what I came here to do, and your _friends_ will never know you remain.”

 _‘If you insist,’_ Mollymauk replies in a tone so flippant it makes Lucien’s blood burn with indignation. _‘But I have to say, for someone mocking said friends for their lack of subtlety earlier, you’re the one sitting here talking to yourself like a loon.’_

There’s nobody watching; nobody listening. Lucien knows this the same way he knows his Tombtakers wouldn’t dare try and spy on him; his Truesight constantly aware of the Nein and their going-ons… but it doesn’t stop him from feeling suddenly on edge, actively looking about to make sure he’s not being observed.

He’s not, of course. Of course.

_‘Like I said. Paranoid.’_

“Shut up,” Lucien snaps, and although Mollymauk laughs at him he also keeps quiet. So he knows how to follow orders, at the very least.

Taking a moment to get situated a little more comfortably on the snow, keeping the fire burning before him and his eyes on the dome, Lucien thinks for a moment on how to approach this newfound issue. Certainly there have to be ways to expel unwanted souls from objects or even people, but he’s not too keen on trying out any more… _volatile_ rituals on himself, not after the last time. Trustworthy as his Tombtakers are, they’re not exactly the most capable of people with the exception of maybe Cree, and Lucien’s not sure he has enough faith in their ability to keep him _in_ and get Mollymauk _out_ \- so that’s off the table.

The Nein could handle it, maybe, but that plan gets about as far as Lucien sucking up his pride long enough to ask them for such a favour before it collapses in on itself. They’d never agree to purposefully removing their old friend anyway, as dear to them as Mollymauk evidently is.

 _‘I’m rather harmless, you know,’_ Mollymauk is saying before Lucien’s even finished thinking, and it sets off an alarm in the back of his head that he hadn’t needed to brush off in a long while. _‘Not a lot I can do, sitting pretty in here.’_

“Aside from reading my thoughts?” There’s a pause, and frustrated as he is at the unbalanced power dynamic between them Lucien feels a twinge of satisfaction at knowing he’s already caught on to Mollymauk’s tricks. “You’re not that subtle yourself, Tealeaf.”

_‘In my defense, your thoughts aren’t exactly the quietest thing around. Pretty much the only amusement I have in here, actually, aside from getting to watch Beauregard take the piss out of you.’_

“I think I hate you,” Lucien says with the smile of an angered man curving at the corner of his lips.

 _‘Oh, darling, I already_ know _you hate me. Don’t fret - the feeling is well and truly mutual.’_

* * *

Mollymauk makes no mention of wanting to speak to his friends even once the sun has risen, which is suspicious in and of itself. Though he’d prodded, Lucien hadn’t gotten any answers during the night as to whether or not the fragment had any control over _his_ body, eventually giving up when it became clear he wasn’t going to get any answers (and Mollymauk had frustrated him to the point of sitting in stony silence).

There’s no doubt in his mind that Lucien can’t trust a word Mollymauk says, if for no other reason than the fact that they are in some ways one and the same, and Lucien knows well just how tricky he himself can be. Such knowledge does nothing to soothe his growing concerns, of course, and the worry only increases as their ragtag group continues moving. There’s no telling if or when his mouth and limbs may no longer be his own, his nerves making him keep a more broad distance from the Nein as they trek through the snow.

It takes him a moment, half-listening to the scattered conversations being exchanged between the two parties behind him, before Lucien realises he’s being watched. He doesn’t bother turning his head to acknowledge it, instead letting his Truesight do the work - and it’s ultimately not too surprising to find that it’s the scrawny human wizard who continues to stare from the corner of his eye.

“Is there a reason I’m being watched like a hawk by one of yours?” The words he speaks are low and quiet, meant for nobody by himself. It wouldn’t do to have anyone overhear him, even the rest of the Tombtakers, overbearing as their adoration for him is.

For a moment there’s no response, and briefly Lucien wonders if he’s being ignored - but then finally Mollymauk replies with the kind of faux-nonchalant voice that betrays far more than just concern. _‘I’m afraid I don’t have your gift of omnipotent sight, dear. You’ll have to be a little more specific on who’s got their eye on us.’_

Well, that’s useful to know. “The wizard; who else?” 

And Lucien feels it this time - brief as it is, there’s a flicker of _something_ in the back of his head, emotions that don’t belong to him. It’s difficult to pin them all down at first, a mix of various different feelings: amusement, concern, gratitude, grief. Adoration. He can’t help the smirk that rises on his lips, unbidden but not inappropriate. “You’re quite fond of him, hm?”

_‘I’ll ask you not to mock me! Anyone would be fond of a man like Caleb Widogast if they only got to know him.’_

“I doubt that,” Lucien mutters, remembering his previous conversations with the irritating, pushy man. Still, he files the knowledge of his name away for later - desperate times may call for desperate measures, after all. “So? Why the staring?”

 _‘I imagine he misses me dearly,’_ is Mollymauk’s obnoxiously over-dramatic response. Lucien’s not sure why he was expecting a straight answer when it seemed to be a running theme among the Nein to be as irritatingly obscure as possible. _‘You really are high-strung, aren’t you? No sense of humour, none at all.’_

“Mollymauk,” Lucien hisses, feeling his temper begin to reach its limit. There’s only so much bullshit he can take at any given point, especially unwanted and coming from inside his own damn head.

_‘Alright, alright, keep your pants on. If I had to guess, it’s probably because you’re a shady bastard with vague plans of invoking the power of some kind of eldritch abomination from the Astral Plane, all while wearing the face of his dead friend. Great combination of things, really, you’re doing a bloody good job of being the world’s least inconspicuous tiefling.’_

This was a mistake.

“Ah, excuse me?” Tail lashing in surprise, it takes the wizard outright sneaking up on him for Lucien to realise he’d been too distracted by Mollymauk to keep his attention split between the two. Bitterly cursing the fragment in his head, he still manages to turn on the usual charming smile and direct it in Caleb’s direction, met head-on with a skeptical and sleepless gaze.

“Need something?”

“Ja, well, I was hoping to talk to you… unless you are busy with something else?” Immediately Lucien knows Caleb had seen too much - his tone, apprehensive yet suspicious, made it clear he’d been watching far closer than given credit. Still, if he’d _heard_ something they’d be having a very different conversation, which is the only reason Lucien is able to keep from wasting every effort he’s made so far at playing nice by slitting Caleb’s throat there and then.

“No, not busy at all! Please, go on.”

“...right,” there’s a breathiness to Caleb’s disbelieving reply, as if the word was spoken on a sigh, and it takes him a moment of visibly riling himself up before he’s able to speak again. Lucien doesn’t miss the twinge of fondness he feels in response to the act, but he also doesn’t react to it either. “I was wondering if you had thought some more on my offer from last night?”

Ah yes, the offer: the chance to examine his book, in exchange for a warm bed to sleep in. “I’ve thought about it,” he says idly, watching Caleb’s shoulders hike themselves up just a little higher. From the cold, perhaps? “I’m still thinking about it.”

“...it is a pretty nice tower,” the wizard tries, and Lucien can’t quite keep his own smirk down this time. If nothing else, he has to admit that Caleb’s awkward pride _is_ a tad endearing. “I worked very hard on it, and it is warm and there is a lot of food…”

“How about you answer a question for me, and I’ll think on it a little harder?” There’s a pause from Caleb, his eyes visibly flickering about as if mentally weighing up the pros and cons of agreeing to such a deal.

With Mollymauk deadly silent throughout the exchange so far, Lucien takes a moment to wonder what it’d take to make him say something when Caleb eventually speaks up again, muted though his voice is. “Was hab ich zu verlieren? Ja, please, ask away.”

Now, in all honesty, Lucien hadn’t really imagined he’d get this far. Anything actually important he might’ve wanted to know he’s already attempted asking once before, and was only met with conflicting answers that sounded more like lies and excuses than anything else. So, in a rare moment of impulsiveness he hasn’t felt in a long time, Lucien asks the first question that comes into his head: “What was Mollymauk Tealeaf to you, exactly?”

 _‘Hey, hey, hold on there a minute! Lucien-’_ There it is. Good to know.

Caleb, for his part, is very visibly taken aback by his words - eyes wide as opposed to the tired and sad half-lilt Lucien had come to recognise him for, mouth slightly parted. It’s honestly a shame his face was already flushed from the cold weather; Lucien would’ve liked to see if the question had any other noticeable effects. Oh well, maybe next time.

“You mean… in regards to the Nein, or-?”

“No, no. You specifically, Mister Caleb.” The wizard is suddenly very quiet, gazing at Lucien searchingly for no reason in particular that he can think of - the sudden use of his name, perhaps, but he could pass that off as being overheard if necessary. The moment passes, however, and Caleb averts his gaze to look out into the blizzard before them instead, expression becoming almost wistful as he does.

“Molly was… a very good friend to me,” Caleb starts, and Lucien knows without even actively trying that the fragment in question is listening very, very intently. “The Nein had only been together for around a month when he passed, but… in both life and death, it was him who kept us bound through it all.” 

There’s a reverence to Caleb’s voice that grows as he speaks; an unsteady vulnerability borne of grief and the remnants of unnamed, deeper emotions. Emotions Lucien feels mirrored within himself, despite them not being his own. “He once told us he left every place he went to better than how he found it, you know. It is… a value we have tried to emulate in all our travels since, but, well- our rate of success in that is debatable, haha.”

_‘Caleb…’_

“I- we _all_ miss him greatly, but I…” Caleb turns his head then, his gaze firmly meeting Lucien’s own despite the shaky breath that leaves the wizard as he does so. “You may look like him, and you may share certain mannerisms, but there is no fondness in me for you. Does that answer your question?”

“...sure,” Lucien responds after a moment, giving Caleb a smile that falls far short of reaching his eyes. “Good talk, Mister Caleb.”

“The same to you, Mister Nonagon.”

* * *

_History and the Dream. The Tyrant. Death._

Intrigued as he may be by superstitions and the occult, Lucien can’t say he’s ever really though any of that nonsense could be _true._ Call him what you will for believing in the Somnovum and not a deck of playing cards, but at least his Truesight and dreams are real enough to put his trust in. Tarot is little more than fodder for the common folk and their gods, at the end of the day - a game of interpretation and luck at best; a pack of lies and fraud at worst.

Still.

Death… ‘rebirth’, the other tiefling had called it in her sickly saccharine way, as if that was supposed to make Lucien feel any _better._ ‘Something must end for something new to begin’. Ha.

 _‘I made a good majority of the cards in that deck, you know,’_ Mollymauk interrupts Lucien’s thoughts like he doesn’t know exactly what it is he’s thinking about, and Lucien isn’t sure whether to be appreciative that he didn’t bring it up or pissed off at the other for being so purposefully obtuse. _‘Though I can’t say I recognise any of the ones you pulled aside from Death. I suppose Jester’s been making up the rest in my stead!’_

“Making the rest up?” Lucien mutters in response, for lack of anything better to do while sitting alone in front of a fire. They’d wasted another day, and he’s not particularly pleased about how it’d gone down as a whole.

 _‘Sure,’_ Mollymauk replies idly, like his words should’ve made perfect sense to Lucien and he’s the idiot for not understanding. _‘A good majority of the Moonweaver’s tarot cards are blank when you buy them, it’s up to their owner to come up with their own interpretations. I had a good collection going! Glad Jester kept ‘em on her, would’ve been sad to see my hard work go to waste.’_

Lucien sighs. Tilts his head back into the snow and stares up without seeing into the dark sky, clouded and grey. “Tell me about them.”

_‘What, the cards?’_

“No. Your friends.” 

There’s a pause at that, and even though Lucien never feels much from Mollymauk except the occasional flicker of emotion he knows the other is hesitating out of apprehension alone. _‘...why the sudden interest, exactly?’_

_History and the Dream. The Tyrant. Death._

“Call me curious,” Lucien mutters eventually, raising his hand to stare at the eye on its back and the snake tattooed around it. One of the many remnants of Mollymauk’s brief time using his body for his own desires… carnal or not. “Or bored, if you’d prefer. I have no need for sleep, but I don’t quite feel up to dreaming.”

_‘And how do I know you won’t use what I say against them, hm?’_

“I suppose you’ll have to trust me,” he drawls, more than a little exasperated by Mollymauk’s reluctance. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not exactly going out of my way to try and notify the Nein to your presence here. And yes, I suppose I could lie and say my Truesight lets me go so far as to know intimate details about who they are as people, but I’d like to think not even they’re stupid enough to fall for something like that.”

 _‘You’d be surprised,’_ Mollymauk replies with a snicker that is more good natured and fond than it is mean-spirited. He’s quiet again for a few moments more, likely thinking it over, before eventually making a noise that might’ve constituted as a sigh if it weren’t for the fact that he had no lungs. _‘Alright, alright. Well? What do you wanna hear about?’_

“…the time you spent with them, while you were in my body.”

_‘Our body.’_

“Don’t push it, Tealeaf.”

Mollymauk laughs, because of course he does, but then he starts to speak - to tell Lucien tales of his friends, starting with the angel blood and their circus. How he met the rest of the Nein in some shitty tavern, only for the group to get accused of murder by the day’s end and having to prove their own innocence by murdering a deviltoad. Fighting cultist gnolls in a quaint village and beheading a manticore in a mineshaft; defeating a spider in the sewers of Zadash and aiding in a plot to depose corrupted members of the crown. Locating a mob boss and meeting Cree in his hideout; attending a festival and temporarily adopting a child in a swamp.

For someone who only knew the people he holds so dear for little more than a month, Mollymauk never seems to run out of things to say. Lucien feels his adoration for them flow freely from every word, and it’s easy to understand why someone would consider the Nein admirable if they heard such tales come out of Mollymauk’s mouth. He loves them, deep enough that even Lucien himself almost feels like he might grow fond of them too.

“And then you died,” he finishes on Mollymauk’s behalf, head propped up with a hand in the snow where he’d gotten comfortable halfway through the endless rambling. “Like an idiot.”

 _‘I think you’re probably one of the most unpleasant people I’ve ever had the displeasure of talking to, did you know that?’_ Lucien snorts, amused more than anything at Mollymauk’s rebuke that is more bark than bite - although the sensation is quick to fade when the other continues to speak. _‘For someone who asked me for a story, I’m not getting the sense you enjoyed that a great deal. Something wrong?’_

Too engrossed in listening to Mollymauk tell his tale, it had slipped Lucien’s mind to keep as tight a hold on his emotions as had become habit since the fragment had revealed itself in his mind. He’s quick to slam the mental door shut on the sensation of Mollymauk’s consciousness poking around in his own, but it’s too late - the other has no qualms against letting Lucien feel his concern, unwanted as it is. _‘Lucien?’_

“Don’t say my name like that,” he mutters, but there’s not enough heat behind his words to make it matter. It’s not even _his name,_ not anymore - it’s the name of the person he left behind when he became the Nonagon; that scared and miserable boy who fought his way through childhood and beyond on the streets of Shadycreek. “...tell me something, Mollymauk Tealeaf. Do you understand what it feels like to be completely alone in this world?”

 _‘Give a tiefling some warning before you start getting existential with them, gods.’_ Despite the exasperated tinge to Mollymauk’s words, it’s not layered thick enough to conceal the worry beneath, and Lucien has to wonder what sort of person can be so kind even in a situation such as theirs. _‘I had to dig myself out of a grave the first time I woke up, you know? Didn’t have a single memory or scrap of cloth to my name, and apparently the only word I said for months was “empty”, over and over. Before Gustav found me, I had nothing, and I had nobody. So yes, I know what it feels like to be alone.’_

“And yet you still managed to find happiness,” Lucien spits in reply, and finds more poison in his voice than he intended to let out. But it’s difficult to reel himself in when he’s this upset, envy pooling thick and warm in his chest as he finds that he’s venting frustrations he didn’t even know he had - or, rather, had never wanted to admit, not even to himself. “Why is that, hm? Why did you get to enjoy the years you _stole_ from me with no consequences?”

 _‘Are you_ jealous _of me?’_ Lucien’s not trying to hide it anymore, which is the only reason Mollymauk finally clues in, incredulous as he sounds about it. He also sounds incredibly, uncharacteristically angry. _‘No consequences my ass, Lucien, it’s not like I didn’t get myself killed! You’re a miserable bastard through and through, I swear- you ever consider that maybe I was happy living life because I hadn’t sold my soul to a monster? What’s your problem, genuinely? I’m being bloody serious here, what the_ hell _happened to you to turn you into- this?’_

Lucien has never liked the sensation of having people poke around in his brain like some kind of test subject, and now is no exception. But Mollymauk isn’t an invading, outside force, using magic to be cruel - he’s a part of Lucien, with easy access to memories that he’d tried so hard to force down; that nobody else had ever seen before. And it hurts-

_“You’ll never be able to defend yourself like that, stupid boy. Stand up straight and hold out your sword - and stop crying, it’s only a scratch!”_

It _hurts-_ “Stop-”

_“We will follow you, Lucien. I promise, wherever you wish to go, whatever you wish to do - just say the word, and we will be here. You will fulfil your destiny, as the Nonagon.”_

“Mollymauk, _please-”_

**_Welcome. Welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome-_ **

Abruptly his head is clear, and Lucien is left catching his breath as Mollymauk retreats suddenly and all at once, guilt and concern and horror coming off him in waves - although it’s difficult to parse the difference between their emotions after being rattled so thoroughly. _‘Gods- Lucien- what the fuck was that? I can’t believe- I’m so sorry, are you okay? Lucien?’_

“I’m fine,” he gasps, if only to make the other shut up for half a second. Mollymauk is suitably cowed, going quiet, and immediately Lucien regrets it because he’s left silent and alone with nothing but the echoes of everything bouncing around relentlessly in his mind, inhaling quick and fast but never getting as much air as he’d like, fingers beginning to freeze where he’s clutching uselessly at the snow beneath.

Gods dammit, it shouldn’t be so _easy_ to spook him like this. He’s the Nonagon; the one the Somnovum chose - he should be stronger; should be able to shoulder everything and carry on walking regardless, so _why-_ why is he still being held back by it all?!

 _‘Lucien,’_ Mollymauk says, and his voice is so gentle that Lucien almost wants to strangle himself if it means never having to hear the other speak again.

“Don’t _pity_ me,” he hisses back, bent over on his hands and knees as he tries in vain to steady his breathing. It’s hard, and the cold doesn’t make it any easier, sending a shock directly into Lucien’s lungs every time he inhales. “Just- be quiet-”

_‘Deep breaths, Lucien, come on now. I’ll count with you, alright? In, one, two, three, out, one two, three…’_

Slowly, embarrassingly, Mollymauk coaxes Lucien into calming down enough to kneel up and lean back, one hand to his chest as he takes gulps of air large enough to rattle his lungs. And then everything is quiet - both inside and outside of his head, the world muted by snow. The fire flickers weakly beside him, and in the near distance Lucien is aware enough of both his miserable campers and the Nein beneath the dome to know that if anybody had seen that pathetic display, nobody had tried to approach him during it.

Figures.

“You’re right,” Lucien says eventually when it becomes clear that Mollymauk has no idea what to say, shifting in the snow to give his knees a break and instead sit cross-legged in front of the fire, watching it slowly die without bothering to do anything about it. “I am jealous of you. You have _friends,_ Mollymauk. I have-” He motions, frustrated, in the direction of the Tombtakers, tail lashing behind him.

_‘A cult?’_

“A cult.” He doesn’t even have the energy to spit the words at this point, a bone-deep resignation that Lucien knows well keeping him from being as bitter about it now as he could have been. “They were my friends, once. We grew up together. But they changed, when I became the Nonagon - they started to worship me instead.”

 _‘Are you sure they’re the only ones who changed, Lucien?’_ He… doesn’t have an answer to that, at least not one that doesn’t put his teeth on edge. _‘I’m sorry for prying earlier. I shouldn’t have pushed that far. But for a man who wants to become a god, you don’t seem all that happy with the arrangement.’_

Lucien doesn’t have much of an answer to that, either.

_‘You’re allowed to be dissatisfied, you know that, right? It’s not too late to turn back. It’s never too late.’_

He’s come too far to give up now.

_‘You’re lonely, right?’_

He’s not.

_‘We don’t have to keep fighting over what’s mine and what’s yours. I’m happy to share - my friends are your friends. I promise they’d like you if you let them.’_

“You’re wrong, Mollymauk,” Lucien finally replies. He keeps his gaze locked with the one staring at him from within the dome; the icy blue eyes of one Caleb Widogast. “They already hate me too much.”

He’ll give them the book tomorrow, he decides. If knowledge is what they came here for, then knowledge is what he’ll bestow - regardless of the consequences.

**Author's Note:**

> i love mollymauk tealeaf and by extension i also love lucien nonagon, which to anyone who knows me is extremely predictable  
> talk to me about them on twitter @kynjury <3


End file.
